


Unchained Memories

by VivArney



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivArney/pseuds/VivArney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the story was lost in computer limbo.  I'm going to get it retyped ASAP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unchained Memories

"A man is the sum of his memories"

The Doctor

"Dammit, Peter, are you coming or not?" Kermit Griffin called impatiently to the younger detective who seemed far too interested in the pretty redhead standing on the corner.

"Yeah," Peter Caine answered absently as he slid into the Corvair’s passenger seat, his eyes still on the woman.

Kermit pulled away from the curb almost before Peter had the door closed.

"What’s the rush?" Peter asked as he quickly fastened his seatbelt.

Kermit frowned as a blue Honda cut him off. He glanced over at his passenger. "Some of us like to be on time."

"Sorry." Peter reached over and fingered the small, plastic frog hanging from Kermit’s keychain. "This is cute."

"It was a present from Mitch," Kermit snapped, "and don’t try to suck up."

Peter leaned back in his seat and eyed the ex-mercenary warily. "Ouch! You’re in a nasty mood this morning."

Kermit took a deep breath. "My turn to apologize, I guess. I’ve got a lot on my mind today and at least a million things to do before I leave this afternoon. Ya know, sometimes I almost wish I was still in the mercenary business. "Go in, follow orders, get out - no paperwork."

"But being a cop is safer."

Kermit chuckled as he took a left turn onto Irwin Street. "I wouldn’t count on it, kid."

"So, where are you off to?"

"I could tell you, but . . . "

"Then you’d have to kill me. Yeah, right."

Kermit grinned at the old joke. "Actually, I’m going to spend the weekend with Marilyn and the kids. A nice ride in the country, a little fresh air and sunshine . . . "

"You’ll be bored to death in less than an hour," Peter said with a laugh.

Kermit glanced over his shoulder to where several boxes of various sizes lay on the back seat. "It’s also Mitch’s birthday."

"What’d you get her?"

"Everything I need to upgrade her computer, including a new printer." The ex-mercenary grinned. "I won’t be bored."

"It sounds great."

Kermit shrugged. "She’s going to need it for school next term."

"Sure beats the raggedy old typewriter I had back at the academy. I never could get the "Z" key to work."

"So, when is your car going to be ready?" Kermit asked, changing the subject.

"Today, I hope," Peter answered, crossing his fingers. "Who knew it’d take a week to get in a five-dollar part. I really appreciate the rides."

Kermit shrugged. "No problem. Have you got a back-up plan in case it’s not ready?"

"Me? A back-up plan?" Peter laughed. "No, I’ll probably bum a ride with Blake or Skalany."

Kermit nodded and turned his mind back to the mental list he was making. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Peter he had a lot to do this morning. Yes, admittedly, some of the things on his list could wait for his return on Tuesday, but it wouldn’t take all that long to find and delete the "virus" that had somehow managed to bypass all of his safeguards and work its way onto Blake’s and only Blake’s computer. He was certain someone had planted a nuisance program on the older detective’s computer that made it let out a deep resounding belch whenever he pressed the "backspace" key. He suspected T.J. or Skalany - they’d been enjoying Blake’s embarrassment far too much. Personally, he thought it was pretty funny, but Commissioner Kincaid hadn’t thought so during his visit the day before.

"Kermit?"

"Yeah?"

"Green means go," Peter said with a grin.

He hit the gas and drove on through the intersection.

"You ARE really out of it."

Kermit didn't answer as he turned into the precinct parking lot.

 

* * * * *

 

Kermit had Blake’s computer back to normal in minutes then stood on Peter’s desk to issue a general warning, explaining in gruesome detail exactly what he would do if the "unknown" culprit or culprits ever dared to repeat the prank. At one point, he removed the green glasses and glared at the two he suspected in particular, then hopped off the desk, returned to his office without another word and slammed the door behind him.

He worked through lunch, but devoured almost a half a bag of gummi bears and some peanut butter and cheese crackers while he finished his various projects.

When he checked his e-mail, he found a note from a friend informing him of the death of an ex-comrade named Marvin Beards. He sent back his condolences and noted that the funeral wouldn't be until Thursday. He made a note on his desk calendar and frowned. His friend had died of lung cancer of all things. He shook his head. Marvin and his cigarettes.

Finally, at around five, he walked into Karen Simms’ office, closed the door and laid a thick stack of files on her desk.

"You’re leaving already?" she said with a smile.

"It’s a two hour drive to The Gables and I promised Marilyn I’d be there before dinner," he told her with a shrug.

"Did you get the Warren case taken care of?"

"Oh yeah. Mr. Warren isn’t going to be able to squirm out of this one."

"That’s good to hear."

"I’ll be back on Tuesday morning," he promised quietly. He started to leave then turned back. "Do you like Buffalo Wings?"

She smiled. "The hotter the better. What do you have in mind?"

"Dinner at my place Tuesday night." He lowered his glasses and winked at her. "And the wings are just an appetizer."

"I’ll be there. Have a good time."

"Oh, yeah."

 

* * * * *

 

Ten minutes later, he was in his car headed out of the city. He popped a cassette into the player. "Bat Out of Hell" blared from the speakers as the scenery flashed past him.

The traffic in the city was unusually backed up for a Friday afternoon and it was just starting to get dark when he pulled into a convenience store almost two hours later. He needed gas and a quick trip to the toilet in that order. He suddenly realized that he must have downed at least a gallon of coffee and half a dozen sodas throughout the day. He filled the gas tank and went inside to pay.

The burly guy behind the counter had country music playing so loud that Kermit had to shout to be heard over the steel guitars and caterwauling woman’s voice. He paid for the gas and was given a tiny key attached to a two-by-four about a foot long.

"Wouldn’t want to take a chance on losing this," Kermit muttered as he went back outside.

He finished his business in the tiny lavatory and stepped out onto the asphalt. The dusk had turned to blackness behind the convenience store by this time and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness after the bright light of the small lavatory. He turned as he noticed a quick movement off to his right. A fist caught him square on the jaw, sending his glasses sailing off into the darkness. Kermit came up swinging the two-by-four for all he was worth, but there were suddenly three sets of very large fists striking out of the night. He reached for his gun only to have his wrist twisted with brutal force. The Desert Eagle clattered as it hit the cracked asphalt. A fist appeared out of nowhere and doubled him over. Kermit was knocked to the ground, searching blindly for his gun. He couldn’t suppress a groan as a steel-toed boot slammed itself against his ribcage. The kick was repeated and duplicated from the other side. Every time he tried to rise, he was knocked back to the ground. Finally, solid steel covered in thin leather impacted against his left temple and everything went black.

 

* * * * *

 

Karen Simms looked up from the file in her hands as the phone rang. She glanced up at the wall clock and frowned. It was after ten. Why was she still here?

"Captain Simms," she said into the receiver.

"Captain, this is Marilyn, Kermit’s sister."

"Hello, Marilyn. Did Mitch like her . . . "

"That’s why I’m calling. Kermit hasn’t arrived yet and I was wondering . . . "

Karen frowned. "I’m sorry, but he’s not here. He left around five. I understood he was going straight there."

"Now, I’m really starting to get worried."

"Maybe he had car trouble."

"He would have called."

"Have you tried his cell phone?"

"A couple of times, but I got no answer."

"Let me put you on hold while I check something here."

"Okay."

Karen tapped the hold button and made a couple of calls. Her frown deepened as she reconnected with Kermit’s sister. "Marilyn, I’ve checked with the county and local departments... there have been no accidents reported involving any vehicles matching Kermit’s car as far as Harrisville. Maybe he just got tired and decided to stay at a motel instead of driving straight through."

"It’s only a two hour drive."

"I know, but let’s hope for the best."

"You’re right. I’ll call you again if he hasn’t shown up by lunchtime."

"Call me in either case."

"I’ll do that."

Karen hung up the receiver and frowned in concern. Sighing, she turned off her desk lamp and left the office. She stopped and placed a hand on the ex-mercenary’s closed door. "Where are you, Kermit?" she whispered.

 

* * * * *

 

He woke to pain, movement, darkness and cold metal against his bare skin.

There was bright moonlight shining from above and he could see he was lying in the bed of a fast-moving pickup truck. Trees rushed by above and he shivered in the cold, but the chill wind actually seemed to clear his mind.

He sat up, trying to make out his surroundings, only to be knocked down again by the branches of a passing tree. His whole body ached and he fought to remain conscious, but his head was throbbing and he felt dizzy - sure signs of a concussion. He found himself wondering how he knew that fact, but he had very little time to try to work it out. The truck hit a bump and he was thrown against the wheel well.. He cried out as everything faded into blackness.

 

* * * * *

 

At The Gables, Marilyn went again to the front window of the old house. She sighed. It was nearly midnight and there was still no sign of her older brother.

"Mom?"

She turned to see her son, Jason, standing at the foot of the stairs. "Jason, what are you doing up?"

He shrugged. "Guess I was just wondering whether Uncle Kermit had shown up yet."

She shook her head sadly. "No, honey. Not yet."

Jason put an arm around his mother’s shoulders."Don’t worry, Mom. He can take care of himself. He’s probably just had car trouble."

She hugged her son tightly to her accepting the comfort he was trying to give. ‘He’s growing up so fast,’ she thought as she gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m praying it’s nothing serious and he’ll be here soon.”

 

* * * * *

 

The truck stopped. The occupants, a thin man and second, heavier man both wearing dark clothing opened the doors and clambered out.

"Guess this place is as good as any," the heavyset man said, looking around at the spot in the bright light of the full moon. He could hear a small creek off to their left and the trees that surrounded them blocked out the moonlight within a few feet of the hard packed dirt road.

The sounds of the night creatures had stopped as the truck approached, but resumed within a moment or so.

The thin man shivered in as a cold breeze swept past them.

"Come on, man." the heavier man said and walked to the back of the pick-up.

"I don’t know, Mad Dog, I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

The other man’s face tightened. "You’re the one whose boot prints are gonna show on the body, Brian, and you didn’t have any problem spending the money from the last guy we trashed. You can’t quit now."

Brian sighed. His longtime friend was right. He’d been involved in too many of these attacks to walk away now. He reached to open the tailgate of the battered, old truck. It came down with a loud squeal that silenced the animals of the forest again.

Mad Dog grabbed the feet of the man lying in the truck bed and hauled the limp figure toward them.

The man exploded into action, struggling against Mad Dog’s grip, then fell to the ground with a cry as Brian slammed a rifle butt into his side.

Mad Dog picked up their victim and threw him off the road. They heard a splash as the man landed in the creek. Mad Dog shrugged "Guess that takes care of him," he said as he and Brian got back into the truck and drove off.

 

* * * * *

 

The next morning, two children were walking across a patch of sunlit ground carrying small, metal buckets. Blond haired with blue eyes, they were often mistaken for twins although Randy Perkins was ten and Mandy, his sister, was eight. They were looking for eggs. Their grandfather let his chickens run free and some of the hens tended to roost in the barn and the children had to find the eggs before one of the cows or horses stepped on them. Randy pulled open the door and they walked into the big, airy barn together.

A cool, crisp breeze made its way through the open door, blowing Mandy’s hair into her eyes. She pushed the strands out of her face and looked across the hay-covered floor of the stable. With an inarticulate cry she snapped her fingers and pointed to off to her brother’s right.

"What is it?" Randy asked, squinting as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the barn after the morning sunshine.

Mandy pointed toward the dark form and rushed over to one of the stalls.

"It’s a man!" Randy shouted. He knelt beside the still figure.

//He dead?// Mandy signed.

Randy leaned closer. "He’s breathing! We better get Grampa."

//You go. He never understand me.//

"Okay, just don’t touch him. Could be, he’s sick."

She shook her head and signed emphatically, //No, not sick. Look at his face! Somebody hurt him. Hurt him bad! Hurry fast, Randy!//

"I’ll be back as soon as I can," he promised and shot off out the door and down the hill toward the house.

Mandy knelt beside the man and gently brushed dead leaves and grass away from his face with her fingers. She stared as his body started to shake. He was going to be sick. Frowning, she grabbed his arm and shoulder and pulled and pushed until she got him onto his side, then held his head up off the floor. It was all she could do to hold down her own breakfast as the man lost whatever he'd eaten.

She made a terrible face as she turned her empty egg bucket over onto the mess and pushed it down into the hay. The bucket didn't cover all of it, but it was enough.

The man groaned and Mandy patted his cheek gently. It was hard to know where to touch him without hurting him. She smiled as the man’s eyes opened and he looked up at her.

"Who . . . " he asked dazedly.

She smiled and put a finger to her lips.

He started to sit up, but she shook her head. He groaned and went suddenly limp.

Mandy reached out and touched his chest and smiled at the slow rise and fall. She looked up at the sound of running feet as her grandfather and brother approached. "What’ve you found, Mandy my girl?" Stephen Perkins called as he followed Randy into the barn.

"I told you, Grampa," Randy said excitedly. "It’s a man and he’s hurt bad!"

Stephen spotted the overturned bucket and smiled at his granddaughter's ingenuity. "Ya did good, Mandy girl!" he said. "Turned him by yourself, did ya?"

She nodded.

"Good girl."

She signed to her brother.

"She says he woke up, but he went back to sleep again."

Stephen Perkins frowned as he knelt beside the injured man. Someone had certainly worked him over, he thought as he bent to examine the man’s injuries. He didn’t like what he saw.

There was a nasty cut just over his left eye and a bruised lump over his left temple. He wore a shirt that had been white at one time, but was now bloodstained and torn. His dark trousers were spotted with dirt and pieces of grass, hay and God knew what else. His shoes were gone and his once white socks were a mess. The man’s longish dark hair was matted with blood and dirt.

Stephen gently pulled the injured man’s shirt open and glanced up as Randy gasped at the sight of the bruises that covered the man's body. "We’re going to have to be careful how we move him," he told the children. "Randy, you best go get your grandmother, I’ll need her help."

Stephen was examining the nasty cut on the man's forehead when his wife, Sadie, arrived with a pot of hot water, clean rags and towels.

"Lands! Stephen, what happened to him?"

"Looks like Mad Dog and his friends have been at it again," he answered, referring to the local hoodlums who sometimes attacked travelers. Stephen took one of the rags and dipped it into the water and began cleaning the blood from the man's face. "This fella got off lucky from what I can tell."

"How so?"

"He’s alive."

"Shouldn’t we call the sheriff?"

"And what’s Larry gonna do? Write up another report that’ll gather dust for the next twenty years? And Mad Dog and his buddies will just attack the next stranger coming through town. This man survived. God knows how, but he’s alive. If I can get him to testify against those hoodlums, maybe we can put them away for good. I’ll do what I can for now and if things look too bad, I’ll call for the ambulance in Branford."

Sadie silently watched her husband do what he could for the injured man and occasionally sent one of the children to the house for more water and other items.

"I’ll go get the front bedroom ready," Sadie said quietly. "Looks like we're gonna have company for a spell."

Perkins nodded. The injured man was in bad shape and he’d rather not have to move him too far. Stephen frowned. At the moment, he was the only one with any medical experience within a fifty-mile radius and he was a veterinarian. Medical assistance in the area had been sporadic at best since the local clinic had burned down six months earlier, killing the resident doctor. The fire had been determined to be arson, but there was not enough evidence to link anyone to the crime. Now there were no doctors willing to set up practice in the area. Stephen often found himself relying on the experience he’d gained during his two tours of duty as a medic in Vietnam to fill that gap. Right now, his first priority was getting the injured man out of the morning air and into the house.

"Get me a blanket, Randy, don’t want him taking a chill on top of everything else."

Mandy looked on worriedly as her grandfather and brother rolled the man onto a blanket then lifted him into the bed of the small hand-truck they used to move bales of hay into the barn.

"Up you get, Mandy. Your job is to protect his head. Make sure it doesn’t knock about in the truck. Can you do that?"

She nodded earnestly and scrambled up into the truck beside the man and pulled his head into her lap as Perkins closed the small tailgate.

Randy and his grandfather picked up the handle and pulled the hand-truck slowly toward the house.

 

* * * * *

 

“Okay, are we ready?’ Mary Margaret Skalany asked her partner as the car pulled to a stop across the street from a small, mustard-colored house.

Beside her, Peter Caine took a deep breath and checked the magazine of his pistol before he nodded and reached for the door handle. Tracking down bail jumpers wasn’t his favorite duty and Ray Ratan was a particularly nasty character who’d been arrested for locking a woman in a freezer. “Yeah, you take the front.”

Mary Margaret nodded.

They got out of the car and walked toward the trash-filled yard. Peter frowned at the piles of beer bottles, food cans, auto parts and other debris. Why the city hadn’t cited the residents for it was a mystery to him. He ducked as he went past a window to circle to the back of the house.

A figure burst out the back door and Peter groaned. He’d known the bastard would run, why hadn’t he asked for backup?

“Ratan, stop right there!” Peter yelled, taking a bead on the other man. “Skalany, he’s heading down the alley!”

The fugitive looked over his shoulder and shouted a string of obscenities as he threw a beer bottle at Peter and shot off down the alley.

Peter batted the bottle away and followed him.

Ducking trash cans and cars on blocks, Ratan and Peter raced down the narrow track.

Peter’s legs were burning with near exhaustion when Ratan vaulted over a privacy fence. He was prepared to follow the other man when he heard an agonized scream. Peter stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on a sign nailed to the fence that read “Warning: Trespassers will be skewered.” He carefully pulled himself up to look over the fence.

Ray Ratan had landed face down in the middle of a group of very large blackberry bushes. Inch long brambles had penetrated his clothing and embedded themselves in his body. Peter winced in sympathy. ‘That’s gotta hurt,’ he thought, trying to get a better grip on the thick wooden planks.

There was a shout from the house and he looked over to see two women emerge from the house. Both were over or near forty and fat, but there any similarity ended. One was short and greying, the other was tall with dark hair and wore dark glasses. As Peter tried to decide what to do, the taller of the women turned and yelled back toward the house. “Hey, Justine, call the cops! We got one!”

“Get me the hell out of here!” Ratan shouted.

“I wouldn’t move around too much,” the shorter woman said with a grin. “Those brambles can be pretty dangerous.”

Ratan let out a cry as an enormous Siamese cat leapt up onto his back and peered down over the man’s shoulder.

“Ma ak?” the cat asked, his blue eyes filled with curiosity.

“Doctor, get down off there,” the shorter woman ordered, but the cat, as cat’s will, ignored her. His curiosity over this stranger easily outweighing anything his person might demand of him.

“I’ll sue you bitches!” Ratan bellowed.

“Not gonna work, pal,” the taller woman laughed. She pointed to a “No Trespassing” sign on the fence. “It’s posted.”

“Caine! I’ll have your badge for police brutality!” Ratan threatened.

Peter couldn’t suppress a grin as Mary Margaret pulled their car to a stop a few feet away. “I never laid a hand on you, Ratan. You jumped over that fence all by yourself.” He grinned. It was hard to keep from laughing at the whole situation.

Another short, even fatter, woman came out of the house. “I called the cops.” She was almost jumping up and down in excitement. “I told you two that bramble would work.”

Peter smiled as he spotted several more cats sitting in the back windows of the house, their eyes riveted on the entertainment outside. A pert looking tabby with white feet strolled over to sniff at the brambles as a small white and black fox terrier shot out the door and started barking at the intruder.

“Hush, Pep!” the taller woman said quietly.

“Keep that mutt away from me!” Ratan shouted.

“Pepper, statue.”

The dog obediently sat at the woman’s feet, her dark eyes still on Ratan as she let out a low growl.

“What ya got, Peter?” Skalany asked, pulling herself up beside him. “Ow, that looks painful!” she said. “How are we going to get him out of that?”

Peter sighed. “I guess we’ll need the fire department. They’re going to have to winch him up out of that thing.”

Mary Margaret nodded.

“I called the fire department, too,” Justine said with a grin.

Peter pulled his badge from his pocket. “I’m Peter Caine from the 101st precinct,” he said. “Um, is there another way into the yard? A safe one?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, there’s a gate around the front,” the tall one said. “I’ll go unlock it for you,” she said in a Texas drawl.

Peter and Skalany came into the backyard - the proper way - and took the names of the three house mates; Jo, Lyssa and Justine, for their report and grinned at their reason for planting the huge “burglar trap” as Jo called it. The house had been burglarized twice in the first two years they’d lived there and they’d planted the blackberry brambles not long after that.

“A lawyer friend of ours told us it was okay as long as we posted a warning,” Lyssa told them. She looked over to where the cat had settled on Ratan’s back and was giving himself a leisurely bath. Unfortunately, the Siamese’s movements, small as they were, were pushing Ratan’s body down harder onto the thorns.

Ratan let out a pain-filled yell.

“Doctor, you’re a naughty boy!” Lyssa chided the cat. “Come out of there.”

“I’ll get him,” Jo offered, reaching for the cat. Her movements startled the cat who dug his claws in Ratan’s back for balance.

“NO!” Ratan shouted.

“Better leave him there,” Mary Margaret advised. “He’s not that heavy.”

“He’s sixteen pounds,” Lyssa said proudly.

“Aw, leave him alone. He’ll probably get bored and leave before the fire department arrives anyway,” Peter said, waving his hand in dismissal.

By the time the firefighters arrived, the cat had gone off to chase a passing squirrel.

It took only a few moments to remove Ratan from the blackberry bramble and load him into an ambulance for a trip to the hospital to remove the thorns that had broken off during his rescue.

 

* * * * *

 

Karen Simms jumped as the phone rang in her office. She'd been concentrating on the stack of files on her desk all morning and the sudden sound startled her. She took a deep breath and steadied herself as she reached for the receiver.

Peter Caine stepped into her office with another stack of files. Things had been pretty quiet since the capture of Ray Ratan that morning and the detectives had actually gotten a chance to clear some of their old paperwork off their desks. He saw the captain start and frowned. It wasn’t like her to be jumpy.

She waved him to take a seat as she continued her conversation. "Yes, Marilyn, I think that would be a good idea. I’ll see what we can do from this end." She said goodbye and hung up the receiver.

"Marilyn? As in Kermit’s sister?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "Kermit never arrived at the Gables," she told him bluntly.

"Car trouble?"

"I thought of that. He’d have called."

"Old mercenary business?"


End file.
